


Collide

by AlyKat, roguebowtie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU: Fairy Tale/Myth, Abuse, Also - Phil's dyslexic, Alternate Universe, And both princes of their kinds, Emotional Abuse, Faeries - Freeform, Fanart, Ficlets, High Prince Clint, M/M, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Princling Phil, Seelie Clint, The boys are literally fairies, Trope Bingo Round 2, Unseelie Phil, a dyslexic dragon, and a playlist, and college clint, and shenanigans snowball, but that's okay because Clint is a writer, dragons and seelie and werewolves oh my!, majoring in fashion design, oh yeah and it's also a college AU too, that's the file name 'badboy phil and college clint', the one that starts out with badboy phil, then everyone turns out to be something Other, tw: abuse, we just type for them now, we lost control of them a long time ago
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:32:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguebowtie/pseuds/roguebowtie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Fairy Tale/Myth</p><p>Clint is a Seelie High Prince who had no memory of who or what he actually was.<br/>Phil is an Unseelie Changling Prince who risked his life to help Clint remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Marvel's artbox. I'm just dickin' around in it again.
> 
> Roguebowtie and I have been working on an RP that was supposed to turn story, but we were having too much fun and it got turned AU of an AU and yeah story just isn't gonna happen. Instead, you guys get pictures and a playlist...and a ficlet or two.
> 
> Also, if you see anything ~written like this~, it means what's said between those squiggles was said in Fae. But as there's really no way to come up with actual language, and it'd be hard to read, it's gonna be written like that.

[](http://s1072.photobucket.com/user/AlyKat-Kartoons/media/mommyandClintandseelies_zps0d3fceb5.png.html)

Waverly, Iowa  
The woods behind the Barton family home

* * * * * 

Clint watched with wide eyes as the woods around him faded into the grey of twilight. His new purple sneakers barely touched the ground where he sat on the out grown root of the Great Tree. This was his and his mother's special secret hide away, the place for them to escape to when things weren't going well at home. It was a magical and wonderful place that Clint loved just as much as his mother. 

Around them, the lights tumbled from the leaves, down to the soft floor of the forest and danced about, glowing brightly as they sang. Not so much words, but sounds. Joyful and celebratory. Today was Clint's fifth birthday, and the Seelies had come to celebrate with their Princess and her young son. 

Edith Barton smiled a soft smile. There was a fading bruise still rung around her right eye (" _Oh no, it's alright, Mrs. Baxter. I dropped a jar when I pulled it from the shelf in the pantry._ ") and a new pair of matching hand shaped bruises on her arms from the day before (no one in town had seen those yet). Her husband, Harold, hadn't been pleased when he learned she'd spent so much money on a pair of purple Converse sneakers for their young son's birthday present (" _He's five years old! He's gonna have 'em ruined by the end of the day! What the **hell** were you thinking spending that kind of money on him!? Barney ain't had a new pair of shoes in almost two years! You don't hear him griping or askin' for any, do ya?!_ "). A green light shone around her as she settled herself against the trunk of the tree, a much smaller and brighter green glow landing on her shoulder lightly. 

" _~Rejoice! Today was the day five years past that our High Prince was born! Why do you not smile, Your Highness?~"_

_"~Because my son will have to grow up not knowing the truth. Not knowing who he truly is and what he's capable of.~"_

She watched as Clint held his hands close to his face, eyes glued to the little blue light dancing across the ground in front of him as a young Seelie cautiously approached him on his left side. There was a very faint purple light surrounding Clint, and his eyes glowed a bright and vibrant blue --their true, natural color. It still amazed her everyday how beautiful her young son was, with his bright blond hair that stuck up in all directions; a smile that could light up the whole room and laughter that was truly the sounds of their people in its lightness. His eyes --while guarded in the human realm where they were a mosaic of blues, greens, and brown-- could flicker and change while they were alone in the woods behind their home. The magic would come through, changing his eyes to the bright and vibrant blue, to a glowing green like his mother's naturally were, then to a beautiful amber (the sign of royalty among their kind) and back again. Her little boy was beautiful and more special in ways he would never and could never know. 

" _~Should anything happen to me, keep him safe until his soul's complete. Until the one he's to be with has come to protect him, themselves.~_ " 

The little light on Edith's shoulder flickered for a moment, obviously distressed by hearing their princess speak in such a way. 

" _~It is by your wish, M'Lady.~_ "

Clint's eyes lifted then, meeting his mother's glowing greens, and smiled brightly at her. 

"Mama! Lookie, Mama!"

Her own smile blooming on her face, Edith laughed lightly as she nodded, watching her Fae brethren dance about around and onto her son, tickling his cheeks and ears with their wings. 

"I see, Sweetling!"

As the twilight began to fade, and the veil between the ethereal world Edith had grown up in and the harsh reality her son was forced to know began to close, Clint crawled of his root seat and settled himself into his mother's lap. Their brightly colored auras blended together and swelled with love before dimming out around them. She pressed her cheek to Clint's hair, holding him close as he nestled in against her. Her sweet, precious son. She would make sure if something happened to her that he would not remember the truth of this place, of their sanctuary, and that his Fae heritage be hidden from him until the day his Guardian appeared and took him into their care. 

When the last of the light had given way to darkness, Clint turned his eyes to his mother and smiled again. 

"~Love you, Mama.~" The words tumbled from his lips as naturally as if they were the English language, his instincts providing him with enough knowledge to understand and speak as the others had been all evening. 

With tears in her eyes, his mother pressed her lips to his forehead before burying her face in his tiny, soft neck. 

"~I love you, Sweetling. Happy Birthday, Clint.~"

* * *

He woke from a terrible dream, twelve-oh-seven a.m. the eve of his sixth birthday, sobbing and feeling as if someone had tried to pull his ribcage, heart, and lungs out of his chest. He'd tried to explain it to Barney, but the older boy just snarled at him, yanked the blankets up over his head and told him to go back to sleep before their parents got home or else their father would give him a reason to cry. 

At two-twenty-eight, Clint woke again to find police and strangers in his house, a black bag being handed to him and told to put only the things he needed into it. No one would tell him what had happened or where they were going and why his parents still weren't home. He was confused, scared, and didn't know why the dull ache and empty feeling in him wouldn't go away. 

Clint wouldn't celebrate his sixth birthday. Or the one after it. Or the one after that. Or any others after that night.

He would spend the next fifteen years living with an empty and aching chest. Until the day his world was changed in the most wonderful and unexpected way...


	2. Chapter 2

[](http://s1072.photobucket.com/user/AlyKat-Kartoons/media/SeelieClintandUnseeliePhil_zps4a3b331d.png.html)

Somewhere outside of Chicago, IL

* * * * * 

Clint's life hadn't been exactly a walk in the park since his parents had died. Being bounced from foster home to foster home more times than he could count had done its fair share of damage to his self-esteem and feelings of self-worth. With each new foster home, Clint had strived to be good, to do good and make people happy, because maybe --just _maybe_ \-- if he was good enough and made people happy enough, someone would want to keep him. 

No one ever did.

He'd graduated high school at the age of seventeen and a week or so later found himself living on the street after turning eighteen and being kicked out of his last foster home. He'd survived in shelters and alley's, doing _anything_ he could to earn money for tuition to go to the local community college. It was truly a struggle, but he'd managed to graduate with his associates degree and earn a scholarship to the university his best friend and heart's sister, Natasha, was already going to. The day of move-in, he'd carried his duffle and backpack (his entire life contained in just those two bags) from the bus station to the university, and up into his new room where his roommate was already unpacking. 

To say he and Phil-I'm-a-badass-and-don't-speak-to-me-or-I-will-beat-you-down-and-put-my-cigarette-out-in-your-eye-Coulson didn't get along at first would be the understatement of the century. The only thing they seemingly had in common was the fact they were both in the same English class together. Clint was an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing (he actually spent his free time working on a story/book/project once he'd finished everything else he had to do) while Phil was an Art major with a concentration in Fashion Design (a thing Clint did not know about until a few months before school ended and he'd laughed his ass off because of it). On top of this, there was the fact that Clint was the star of their school's archery team and seemingly got along with most everyone, while Phil was the person most people avoided due to a perpetual "Fuck off and Die" attitude, his punk-goth-ish appearance, and that he was literally dripping in enough cash he almost made Stark look poor (... _almost_ ). Yet, with only a few months left before the end of the year, the two found themselves falling into a hot and heavy, whirlwind romance. 

There were days and nights of heated make out sessions, hands roaming and Phil's mouth sucking dark marks anywhere on Clint's neck he could get to (especially once he found out how much Clint enjoyed having his neck played with). They explored each others bodies and made each other squirm and cry out in intense pleasure. Of course there'd been moments of misunderstandings, fights and hurt feelings, times where Clint thought for sure that once again he'd be tossed off to the side because he hadn't been good enough for Phil to want, and points where Phil wondered if being with Clint was really a good idea or not, but those moments were few and fleeting. The more the two were together, the more Phil became comfortable with the idea of finally coming out of the closet he'd been hiding in, and on the final day of finals, Clint was able to finally come clean to his friends about who had been leaving the "vampire kisses" on his neck. 

It wasn't until he'd been at Phil's family home on the North Shore of Chicago for a couple of months that it was finally revealed to Clint that his Partner (they'd never referred to each other as boyfriends and Phil had in fact introduced Clint to his parents as "his Partner") wasn't quite what he'd thought he was. While it was no secret that Clint had a sort of vampire kink and read a book series dedicated to paranormal romance, he hadn't ever thought it was possible that Phil could be anything but human. When a late night trip to nowhere in particular took a turn for the worst and Clint wound up seriously injured, Phil had managed to take the wound into himself and heal Clint, with an attempt to wipe his memory so that he wouldn't remember and question it later. Neither of them were aware of Clint's linage or of what he was capable of. Not until he'd told Phil of the woods behind his house, about how he and his mother would go hide there because his father couldn't come in and hurt them there (supposedly because he was never sober enough to navigate the fallen limbs and upturned roots). 

It was only then that Phil began to piece things together, that the reality of what had happened and why their feelings for each other were so bone deep started to sink in. For months the two of them had been calling each other "My Love" and "Vladetel", "Strazh" and "Sokrovishche" (Clint calling Phil "My Love" and "Strazh"--the Russian word for Guardian; Phil calling him "Vladetel" and "Sokrovishche"--Possessor and Treasure) and it was then that it became clear as to why it felt so right protecting and being protected. Phil took Clint on an impromptu trip back to Waverly, back to the Protected Woods the other man had played in as a child. 

Clint had been scared, he protested the trip the entire way, gradually shutting down and drawing in on himself the closer they got to the burnt out remains of his childhood home. They'd made their way into the woods, Clint moving purely on autopilot until they reached the tree he'd sat by with his mother. It was there that shit hit the fan...

As the twilight fell upon the woods, Phil was snatched from Clint's side, bond to a tree by a vine while lights surrounded Clint, keeping him from his Partner. Panic, fear and anger welled up in him as he fought to keep Phil, his Guardian, the other half of his soul. He begged and pleaded with the Seelies, ordered them to release Phil ( _"Unseelie Changeling. Dark Sidhe... /Princeling/," the many voices sounding as one had called him._ ), threatened that if anything happened to his love then they would have to kill him too. If it hadn't been for the help of a _very_ unlikely alley (who would have thought that the loud Norwegian exchange student would be a Lord Prince of the Seelies and come to their aid?), neither Clint nor Phil would still be alive. 

It was with their unexpected helper that Clint was able to complete his bond with Phil, releasing him from the grips of his Fae relatives and pulling his Partner to safety. Still, it would take time before their bond was true and complete; giving of life at the same time as taking it. A willing blood exchange. It was during this time that Clint's Seelie blood was re-awoken, his Fae magic returned to him --eyes once again shining the bright, vibrant blue as he stared into Phil's glowing and swirling silvers-- his purple aura coming to combine with the blackened silver light surrounding Phil in a near indestructible shield around them both. Their hearts beat in perfect time with each other, their lives tied to one another --Phil finally able to ensure he could keep his promise to Clint, the one he'd made so many times when he vowed he was going to keep him forever. 

* * * * *

Weeks after their bond had properly solidified and they were both feeling as much like themselves as they could, they found themselves sitting in an open field, far outside of the bright lights in Chicago and her neighborhoods and suburbs, Phil's arms wrapped securely around Clint, head on his shoulder and their combined aura's glowing brightly around them. It was only when they were alone that they let their defenses fall and allow their true beings come through. Clint's bright blue eyes were glued to the book in his lap, his voice quiet and gentle as he read aloud.

" _Ash lifted his chin as a surge of pride and power swept away the pain of his beating,_ " Clint read, smiling softly as he felt Phil's hold on him tighten ever so slightly. " _The pain that had lived inside him for so long that he'd almost forgotten anything else._

_"Taking a deep breath, he let his true voice out and spoke the words that now burned inside him. **I am the god Apostolos. The Harbinger of Telikos. The Final Fate of all. Beloved son of Apollymi the Great Destroyer. My will makes the will of the universe. I am not your whore, Artemis, and I will never be your slave.** "_ He put all the power and command he had in him into the voice of his favorite Dark Hunter, the one Clint associated the most with Phil for a number of reasons and was hopefully sharing with his Partner each and every one of them. 

" _He was through bartering and playing. Tory had done something no one else ever had. She'd given him self worth and a resolve he'd never known before. A woman like Soteria Kafieri wouldn't love a piece of shit. She wouldn't love a whore who crawled at the command of a goddess he despised._

_"No, Tory deserved more than that. And the love he felt for her made him better than his past. He loved her not only for who and what she was, but for the way she made him feel every time she looked at him."_ Slowly, Clint's right hand moved to hold the pages down while his left trailed to rest across Phil's left as it lay across his stomach. Head leaned back against his Guardian's shoulder, he finished the chapter with a quiet, determined tone. 

" _No one was ever going to hurt her so long as there was breath in his body._

_"If Satara wanted to fight for Soteria, the bitch was going to get one._ " 

His head tilted to the side, Clint's eyes fell shut as Phil's warm breath breezed over his pulse point.

"You are so Tory in this story, you know that, right?" Phil teased, a small smirk on his lips as his sharp canines nipped at Clint's soft, thin skin there. Licking his lips and groaning softly, the light surrounding them swelled and sparked as Clint took interest in what Phil was doing and saying.

He whimpered softly and nodded. "Oh yeah...I figured that out _weeks_ ago, Babe." Clint's hands traded spots again so he could reach up to cup Phil's head with his right hand, holding him to his neck gently. "I'm...so totally okay with that. She's pretty fuckin' badass..."

Huffing a quiet laugh, Phil gave one last little nip and lick before nudging Clint's ear gently. "C'mon...next chapter. I'm not ready to head home yet."

With a dejected groan, Clint thunked his head against Phil's before turning his eyes back down to the book. "That's four bites you owe me now."

"You're ridiculous. Shut up and read."

"Pushy, pushy. Geeze. My pushy Changling." Clint let out a huff as he opened to the page they'd been on and continued the story. " _Chapter Eighteen. Tory ground her teeth at the indignity of her stance..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Clint was reading to Phil is called "Acheron" and it's an AMAZING book by an AMAZING author, Sherrilyn Kenyon. Seriously, this Clint and I are HOPELESSLY addicted to her _Dark Hunters_ and _Dream Hunters_ series. I highly recommend them to anyone who loves action, adventures, mythology, drama, suspense, paranormal and romance (since they are technically Paranormal Romance novels. You so cannot go wrong with them. Check 'em out and once you're sucked in, come back and blame me and I'll take full blame for it).


	3. Collide: The FaePhlint Soundtrack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, for whatever reason the link opens in the same page as this. So it takes you away from here...even though I have it set to open in a new window...it still insists on opening in this one. If you wanna listen to the music, feel free, if not, I totally understand.

*Click the link below to be taken to the soundtrack. Featuring: Foo Fighters, Greeley Estates, Peter Cetera (the official musician for FaePhlint), Hunter Hayes, and more)*

 

[Collide: The FaePhlint Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KURb52giNfM&list=PLzULka2ttMMKLmwcbN6cpNRUfsS-un5ln&index=1)

 

1\. Walk         

      -- Foo Fighters (Clint’s Theme)

2\. Go West Young Man, Let the Evil Go East

      -- Greeley Estates (Phil’s Theme)

3\. Collide          

      -- Howie Day

4\. No Explanation   

      -- Peter Cetera

5\. Wanted

      -- Hunter Hayes

6\. Glory of Love     

      -- Peter Cetera

7\. Next Time I Fall     

      -- Peter Cetera and Amy Grant

8\. Fantasies Come True

      -- Ave Q cast

9\. If You Leave Me Now

      -- Chicago

10\. Nemesis

      -- Shriekback (actual song Sherrilyn Kenyon has designated as the theme for her Dark Hunters)

11\. You’re the Inspiration

      -- Chicago

12\. A Thousand Years

      --Christina Perri

13\. This I Promise You

     --N*Sync


	4. Nightmares and Protected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was born wealthy, with eyes an unnatural light grey and a slight fold in his ears that his parents tried to straighten out with a headband when he was still an infant.

Phil had never been much like his peers, not even when he was small. There were no pictures of his mother's pregnancy, no stories of his birth, no photographs of his first days in hospital. He had a birth certificate. A footprint. Two parents. He was born wealthy, with eyes an unnatural light grey and a slight fold in his ears that his parents tried to straighten out with a headband when he was still an infant.

They always had a slight point to them, even after they'd given up on the attempt to change them.

Like most small children, when his eyeteeth came in, they were sharp and a little pointed. His adult teeth should not have been nearly so pointed, but they came in the same way.

In the time between, he would fight every night to have his light kept on in his room. In the time before his 'keepers' were hired and his life became less, and so very much more... the nightmares would come.

Tall and thin, shining silverblue and cold, or amber and smelling of rot and ice. Eyes shining silver-red, and smiles filled with sharp teeth and stories that frightened the small child wrapped tight in his blue blanket, unaware of the silver glow around himself barely keeping them from touching as they told him what he was meant to do.

*

To fight and frame, to hurt and maim, to grow selfish and hateful and to make others feel the same.

They told him stories of their four parents. Ice and Snow, Rustling and Flame. Of how Ice and Flame had a child, and that child was meant for greatness.

Every evening, little Phil Coulson would keep on his light. Every night, his parents would bid him to sleep and turn it off.

In the darkness, every other night.... the Nightmares came.

*

 

Phil Coulson was a clever child, but not very smart - that was what his parents would say, and how he was introduced to the Runaway Russians who'd come to live with them, keep their grounds and kitchen and laundry and... keep him out of trouble.

"He doesn't read, and he's in second grade already," his father said off handed. "But he can draw, sits for hours doing that, ignoring everyone. Still afraid of the dark, though - if you'd work with him on that, it would be great."

"He doesn't cry," his mother added. "Not when he's hurt. Sometimes he runs off, no idea where, but he usually just hides in his room and draws. Rose is the one you have to keep an eye on, taking books out to sit in the trees with and the like. Make sure she doesn't break something."

"We'll be home in a few days."

*

Phil begged for the light to be left on -  it was meant to be a nightmare night. Marya asked why. He told her about nightmares that came and told him stories, and smelled, and he was afraid of them. They only came when it was dark.

"I sit with you until you sleep," she told him, her accent soothing him as she tucked him in. "Sleep, child. Sleep and be safe from the nightmares."

It was a long time until he slept, but he did - and with Marya sat beside him in the darkness... the nightmares did not come.

Within a week, they did not beckon from the shadows, but hovered on the edge of their property, scowling.

By the end of the month, they were gone. Marya and Sasha would fill the sibling's heads with fairytales. Of good and bad faeries, and what they could do, and how to be safe.

When Phil was old enough to go away to boarding school, he was no longer afraid of the dark. He felt stronger, like he was safe there because he knew its secrets, told to him when he still believed in fairytales.

*

No one knew how he got accepted to the boarding academy, other than that he was a Coulson, and Coulsons (like the Starks) were richer than gods. Everyone knew he was stupid. Had to have his books read to him, and his papers written for him. That he would hide away in the tall places, or in the dark shadows and draw superheroes and dresses.

They'd taunted him, of course, and he'd hidden more away from them. Phil knew he was different, that his trouble with words (Dyslexia the teachers called it) was pathetic. He knew he wasn't worth much more than what he could draw, and the way he could remember almost anything told to him.

There was a boy, sweet of smile, who didn't taunt him. Who would sometimes hold his hand in the twilight as they talked about their classes before going to their rooms. It would be valentine's day soon, and Phil promised to take him to a nice place to eat.

They were just kids.

The boy transferred to another school before the holiday, and Phil never spoke to him again.

He went to dinner alone. Even at fifteen, he knew that he wouldn't find another friend to eat with him, and the reservations were for a place he actually liked to eat.

That was the night everything about the Changeling, for good or ill... _Changed._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Roguebowtie


	5. Come Forth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through trials, surprises, and panic - helped along by their friends who are just as unreal as they are - Phil and Clint take true form and enjoy the starlight. Clint, a light fae, and Phil, an unseelie Dragon, have found their place in each other's hearts.
> 
> Artwork by AlyKat

 

((Image description: A male fairy, blond and pointy eared, with purple wings wearing a pair of blue jeans lies on his back, purple wings draped, on the nose of a black dragon who seems to be smiling, silver eyes clearly watching the fairy fondly))


	6. Change of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Near the end of the school year, the antagonistic relationship between Scholarship Student Clint Barton and Billionaire Badboy Phil Coulson takes a shift.

It was two thirty AM, when Phil stumbled into their dorm room., tripped over a few books he'd left on the floor, and flopped onto the bottom bunk with a quiet grunt. Clint started awake, blinking up at the ceiling rapidly until his heart calmed down a bit. A quick glance to his phone and he couldn't hold back the groan. "Please tell me you were off at some late night study thing or something?"

"Shu'up, I'm tryin' not to hurl," Phil groaned into his pillow. "We can call it studyin'. _Anatomy_ ," he sniggered.

"Jesus Fuck, Coulson... are you _drunk_?" Clint rolled to lean over the edge of his bunk and stare down at his roommate. "Never mind... your stench answered that question for me..."

Phil sniggered at him again, then groaned. "Stop movin' th’ bed, Barton."

"Okay, no, you're sleepin' on the floor or in the showers or something. Seriously... this is ridiculous, Coulson." Clint grumbled as he slowly climbed off his bunk and moved to carefully pick the twenty-year-old up off his bed. "What would your parents say if they found out their Golden Child were out getting drunk underage and doing who the fuck knows?"

"They'd say Rose's the new fav'rite.. Wher're we going? I just got back?" he grumbled, stumbling along.

Clint slapped his hand over Phil's mouth as he ushered him out of their room and down the hall to the showers. Without a word, he flipped the water to barely lukewarm. "Shower. Take off those clothes before they spontaneously combust from fumes, I’ll be right back."

Clint left him to take care of things, clearly ignoring his roommate when Phil yelped, "Cold!" before shedding his jacket and pulling his t-shirt over his head. Other than The Scar That Must Not Be Mentioned, his skin was relatively unmarked, his body toned with a scatter of hair across his chest. His belt seemed to be giving him fits though, so he finally slid to sit down in the shower cubicle. Okay so maybe it wasn't too cold for a nap.

Clint came back from running to their room for a towel and clean PJs for Phil and dropped the clothes in the doorway. Rolling his eyes, he reached in to flip the shower to full cold and once again clamped his hand over Phil's mouth. "You do know it's just an urban legend that if your roommate dies the surviving one gets an A for the rest of the semester, right?"

Phil flailed a bit at the cold, and the hand over his mouth covering the resultant shout, and his eyes narrowed in confusion at Barton. "MLFJFHM??"

"Sorry. I stopped being fluent in 'Drunk' when I was seven." His multi-colored eyes were cold and narrowed as he reached up to turn the water off completely and slowly took his hand off Phil's mouth. "I'm trying to make sure you don't wake up the whole damn floor with your stupidity and get us both in trouble."

"By drowning me?" Phil asked, squinting at him.

"Don't tempt me." Picking up Phil's discarded shirt and jacket, he wrung them out as best as he could before reaching back behind him for the towel. "Besides, you're the dumbass who was falling asleep in the shower. Here. Dry off and put on the dry clothes before you get sick or something."

"I was _trying_ to fall asleep in a bed," Phil pushed himself up then swayed holding a hand over his mouth.

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed Phil's arm to steady him. "Look Coulson, I get that you're like, insane rich and don't need to study or whatever. But there are those of us who need to sleep and study and aren't relying on mommy and daddy's nickle to keep us here. If I lose my scholarship because you thought it'd be fun to finally cut loose and act like an idiot..."

"Oh, fuck you," Phil said, shrugging him off and stumbling back against the wall, yanking at the towel and wrapping it around shivering shoulders. "I'm outta here," he pushed past Clint, stumbling to the door.

Grabbing up the discarded clothing, he moved to follow after his roommate, watching in mild amusement as he stumbled his way back to their room. "Ya know, I hear Tony's roommate ditched him. I'm sure you two can have wonderful kegger orgies in his room together. Match made in heaven."

"I will strangle him with his lamp cord," Phil grumbled, stumbling into the bedroom.

"I dunno. Booze and 'studying anatomy' together. Sounds about right for you both." He shut the door with maybe a bit more force than was necessary, especially at quarter to three and moved to clamber back up onto his bed. "Lay with your face part way off your mattress. So when you eventually up-chuck you don't wind up drowning in it..." he grumbled back, laying down and yanking his pillow over his head.

"Whatever," was Phil's muffled reply.

Surprisingly enough, morning came to find Phil fast asleep, and not a speck of vomit in sight.  
Climbing down off his bunk, Clint checked to make sure Phil was still breathing before he slipped off to go shower and get ready for practice. He left a glass of water, some bread, and two extra strength Tylenol on the nightstand next to Phil's head before grabbing his bow case and slipping off to go hit the range for a while.

* * *

Clint sat at his usual spot at the back of the classroom, notebook in front of him and pencil tapping out a rapid beat against the table. English was one of his favorite topics, and it was mostly easy enough...providing you actually turned your papers in and followed the directions. And came to class occasionally.

English was one of the few classes that Phil slid into just as the bell rang, sat somewhere in the middle, and chewed on his pencil, scowling the whole time. He tried taking notes, really he did, but he wasn't very lucky with them. He hated it with a passion, but there was no way he was going to deal with this next year, not when he'd have to do his thesis as well. Thus, he did what he had in english in high school. Actually listened to the teacher, and tried to get enough from that that if he didn't crack the book, he would still manage to pass with, at least, a B.

Clint scowled and shook his head as Phil slid into his seat. It was the only class the roommates had together and he had no idea how the hell the guy was passing! He'd never actually seen him read anything they were supposed to or write the papers. They just magically would appear the day they were due and that was that. A small part of Clint suspected Phil paid someone to write them for him. He couldn't help but snort at that thought because while it wouldn't surprise him, at the same time it would actually seem very out of character for the guy.

As the teacher continued on with the lesson, Clint let his mind wander a bit as he stared out the window. It was gorgeous outside, he didn't want to be cooped up indoors when he could be out there enjoying the sun. He was just getting lost in thoughts of lying on cool grass when he heard the words "Partner up for this project." Head snapping back around, he watched in mild horror as the class started to break off and select their partners.

Phil hadn't started looking, really anyone could be paid to do the writing part of the assignment. It wasn't hard to find someone to do it, as long as he spoke his part of the paper onto an .mp3, easy as cheese. He finished carefully writing down what the assignment was, then looked up.

"Shit," he muttered as he realised most of the class had already paired up.

With a heavy sigh, Clint sunk lower in his chair, hoping if he just pretended he wasn't there then maybe he could just write the whole damn thing by himself. It'd be easier anyway.

"Phil? Why don't you pair up with Mr. Barton back there?"

Clint swore under his breath and slowly pushed himself back up right in his seat.

Coulson looked like a deer caught in the headlights as he realised that, indeed, Barton was the only one left. "Wouldn't it be against school policy to have roommates work on a project?" he tried.

"On the contrary. That actually works out perfectly. You won't need to try and figure out when the best time to work on things would be. You two will do fine, I'm sure." The teacher flashed a grin before glancing to the clock. The fifty minutes of class was five minutes from being done. "Alright, use this time to meet with your partner and work things out. I'll see you all next time."

Clint pressed his lips together as he ducked his head and gathered his things up, shoving them into his ratty old, faded purple backpack, the bottom of which completely held together with purple duct tape. Swinging it up onto his shoulder, he didn't even bother to wait for Coulson, Clint had three hours before his next class, he planned to spend that time on the quad soaking in some sunshine.

Phil scowled. This was going to be awful. At least when he had a partner for something in another class, he could get things taken care of and hand them the finished product. There was no WAY Barton was going to let it slide. Unless...

Phil Coulson did not chase after people, but he had no problem plopping down beside Barton on the grass and lighting up a cigarette.

Clint lifted his arm from off his eyes and squinted up as he turned his head to blink at his roommate. "...can I help you with something, Coulson? Or are you lost. Cuz I'm pretty sure your crowd is hiding behind the bleachers at the stadium smoking and drinking right now."

"How much do you want for the paper," he asked bluntly, being nice and not blowing the smoke in his face for his smartassery.

Clint blinked. "...are you fucking kidding me?"

"How much do you want me to get for you to put together the paper," Phil said again, this time blowing a puff of smoke in his roommate's direction.

Clint coughed and waved the smoke out of his face before putting his head back down and covering his eyes with his arm again. "I'm not some lacky you can just pay off to do your homework for you, Coulson."

"Obviously you're not as smart as I thought," Phil said, standing up and tossing down the cigarette butt, grinding it into the grass with the heel of his boot. "Let me spell it out for you, Barton. You get to put together the paper. I'll get the stuff for you to put into it. If you want anything higher than a fucking F minus, then that's how it's going to go."

Clint scrambled to sit up, throwing a blind punch in the direction of the other's leg. "Fuck you! I get fucking A's in that class and I write everything myself!"

"Or we could do that," Phil said blandly, moving his leg out of the way so Clint's fist only hit air.

Clint clenched his jaw and moved to stand up, yanking his backpack off the ground and nearly whacking Phil with it as he swung it around to be lifted onto his shoulders. "Fuck it. I'll write the whole fucking thing myself. I planned to do that anyway until I got paired with you. Go get drunk and study 'anatomy' with your idiot friends." He grumbled turning to storm off for the library.

Phil dodged the backpack and glared after him.

The next morning Phil actually left before Clint, but on Clint's desk was a folder with several sheets of paper printed off the computer with quotes and cited articles that would be useful research wise for the paper they were doing together. No note accompanied the folder, and Coulson made himself scarce the entire day, going to the classes he had to, and of course disappearing off campus at the first opportunity.

Clint spent the majority of the day sorting through notes and typing away at his laptop, only leaving his top bunk when Natasha arrived to drag him off at meal times. By ten o'clock that night, he had half the paper typed up and proofed, pleased with how it was shaping up and really, really tempted to just not put Phil's name on it at all when he was ready to hand it in. When eleven o'clock rolled around and Phil still wasn't back, Clint wrote a note and slapped it to the door, not caring who saw it. "I have a test tomorrow morning. Drag your drunk ass off to sleep in someone elses room. -CB"

One a.m. came around and Phil stood staring at the letter. He frowned, then nodded to himself and stumbled back to his car to sleep. Whatever. Long's the paper got done, and Barton was fanatical about his homework - and Phil could only hope some of the research he'd managed to gather got into it - then he could put up with Barton being a pissy brat for a night. Lola's seat had plenty of space to sleep for a night, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it.

After two days of making himself as scarce as possible, usually holing up in Natasha's single room--perks of being floor mod, he guessed--Clint wandered back to his shared room and dropped all twenty-five pages (twenty six and a quarter if you counted the work cited and annotations page) onto Phil's bed. "Here. Read it. I wrote it. You present it." He grumbled, turning to stuff laundry into a bag to go wash.

Phil saw the paper. Saw how long it was. Most emphatically _didn't_ panic. "No."

Clint stopped mid shove and blinked. "What?"

"I'm not presenting it. You can present it, or I'm just dropping it on prof's desk."

"WHAT?! I.." Clint's jaw clenched. "I wrote that entire fucking thing. The least you can do is present it."

"Guess we're getting a B then," Phil stood up from his desk, put his honest-to-fuck cd-walkman into his pocket and headed for the door.

Eyes narrowed, Clint grabbed the papers off the bed and tossed them to his own desk. Teeth ground together, he stuffed the last of his laundry in the bag and made a mental note to definitely take Phil's name off the cover page.

The day for the paper to be put forth came, and Phil came in as the bell rang, as per usual, moving to sit at his desk.

The teacher gave the class an option of presenting their paper for extra credit, or just turning it in. Clint raised his hand to go first for presenting. He didn't even look at Coulson as he stood up and gave a brief, three minute overview of what he'd written before turning it in. The cover page devoid of Phil's name and information.

Which, of course, would be why Phil was told to stay after class when everything was over. He frowned when Barton hadn't also been called, and loitered at his desk until everyone was gone before going down to talk to the professor.

Clint hid his smug smirk well as he waltz out of the classroom like he owned the place and wandered off to go laze around before his next class. The teacher, however, questioned why Phil didn't turn a project in, or why his name wasn't on Clint's project with his.

He had a choice. He could rat Clint out, that he'd just not put his name on the project, show the copies he'd kept of the information he'd given Clint (some of it HAD to have ended up in the paper, form the talk Clint had given) . . . or he could let the bastard win. "How does my grade look, if I had no paper for today? Still a pass?" he asked, carefully, keeping up the mild mannered look he used with all the teachers, despite being dressed down like most of the other students. It hadn't failed so far.

"You would still pass. Yes. But your grade would fall to the low B range. This was a lot of points, Phil." The teacher explained, giving him a curious look.

Phil thought for a moment, ducking his head to buy himself time. He had plenty of money, his folks were paying for school to keep him out from underfoot, and as long as he passed his classes, they didn't really care what he did. It was probably why he didn't get along with Stark - their families ran in the same circles, after all. Then there were students like Barton, there on scholarship and hard work. Kids who NEEDED the grades to be able to finish up.

Phil readjusted his backpack on his shoulder and decided not to give her the proof he'd helped with the paper. "Guess I got distracted with my project in design, ma'am. I'll do better next time around."

The teacher gave a small frown and tilted her head. "Phil? Do you have anything you can turn in for partial credit? I don't want to have to give you a zero."

"Oral report?" he tried.

"I need to see work, Phil. Oral reports were for extra credit. I can't give you extra credit on something you didn't turn in."

So. Goddamn. Frustrating. He could give her a speech on the subject he and Barton had been given and it'd sound like a paper, but no, it had to be fucking written down, and half the time the computer's spell check had no idea what word he was going for anyhow. "Thank you for the zero, ma'am. If there's nothing else, I have a design class in ten minutes and it's across campus." his voice deceptively steady.

She nodded and turned her attention back to packing up the papers that had been turned in and let him slip off to where he needed to get to.

After supper, Phil went straight back to the dorm room. if Barton wasn't there, then he'd wait for him. They needed to exchange... words. When he got there, Clint was on his bed, a carry out container of food lying next to him as he munched away at a slice of pizza and watched whatever mind numbing show was on TV at the time.

Phil shut the door quietly, locking it, and went over, turning off the television before standing in front of it, arms crossed. "Want to explain to me why my name wasn't on that paper when I know damn well you used my research to write it, Barton?"

Clint took his time to chew the rest of his pizza slice, staring at Phil and not looking the least bit concerned. "Only used two pieces you had. Rest was all my research."

"You still used something, my name should have been on that damn paper."

"Well then maybe you should have done your fair share of the work." He shrugged and laid back on the bed, popped the crust into his mouth lazily.

Phil's eyes narrowed. "It was your choice to source different researchers when that work was already done for you, Barton, don't you dare lay that at my feet." He paused. "You do realise that I could have gotten the paper scrapped completely and got you a Zero for the whole thing, right?"

"Hey! You were going to fucking pay me off to write the damn thing to begin with! I did all the work, you couldn't even be fucking bothered to present it. So fuck off. It was my paper and if you did get it scrapped, I'll march right on over there and tell them how you'd planned to pay me off to write the damn thing and refused to do anything more than print off some crappy information you probably paid someone else to find for you."

Phil watched him, expression blank. "You done, Barton?"

"Fuck you, Coulson."

A slow blink. "I'm sure you'd like to," he said, turning and leaving the room. "Screw me over again, and you'll be kicked off campus within a week," he called over his shoulder before the door shut silently.

Clint chucked his carry out cup of soda at the door, watching and not caring as it splattered all over the place. How the hell did he get stuck with such a jackass of a roommate?

Phil didn't come back that night, instead staying the night in the studio, putting all his frustrations into his designs for the impending finals. Sure, it was still a month and a half away, but one could never be too prepared.

Clint spent his night lying on Natasha's floor, scarfing down pizza and ice cream with her, letting her paint his toenails and lamenting about what a dick Coulson was and how he couldn't wait for the time when they got the okay to reserve their rooms for the next year. He was definitely going to nab a single room.

* * *

They were so adept at ignoring each other, that they didn't see each other until class a few days later. Phil was early for once, except for the fact he was seated in the back, fingertips stained black, and fast asleep in his chair.

Clint wandered in and froze when he saw Phil sitting in the back. More importantly, sitting in his spot. Moving to his desk, Clint dropped his bag and kicked Phil's foot. "Hey. Beds are for sleeping, chairs are for sitting. And in you're in mine. Move."

Phil turned his head and opened one eye. "You can stand to sit closer today, Barton," he said, then dismissed him by simply closing his eye again.

"I'm farsighted. I see better at a distance. This is as far back as it gets. Now out of my chair."

"Nope."

Clint was ready to argue more when the teacher strolled in, ready to begin class and hand back papers. Eyes narrowed, he turned and moved to the only seat available, front and center. Digging around in his backpack for a moment, he cursed and raised his hand. "I left my glasses in my room. I'm just right across the street. Can I run back and get them? I can't read what's on the board."

Before she could answer, Phil raised his hand in the back row. When called on, he said, "Ma'am, I'm not feeling well, can I hand in my work now and catch up on the reading before the next class?" Already knowing she'd say yes, he slowly got out of the seat, putting on the backpack as he made his way down through the seats. Truth was, he looked like shit, and not party-hard kind, either.

Clint didn't even hardly wait for Coulson to slip by him before he was grabbing his own backpack and moving back to his regular seat.

Instead of heading to the nurse, Phil went straight to the dorm room, barely managed to change into some clean pyjamas, and immediately took to bed. Whatever it was, he was sure he'd sleep it off - he'd taken care of his sick self plenty of times growing up and if all else failed, he could phone Steve and ask him to pick up some OTC stuff at walgreens later.

Once class was finished, Clint made his way back to their room and let his backpack fall loudly to the floor before none too gently climbing up onto his own bunk. "Ya wouldn't be sick if you didn't drink yourself stupid."

The answer was a hacking cough and a muffled voice from under the covers. "That would involve having drunk anything this week," Phil rasped. He sounded way worse, even if it'd only been two hours.

Confused, Clint leaned over the edge of the bed and stared down at him. "Huh. You're actually sick, huh?"

"'s been known to happen."

Climbing back down off his bed, he grabbed his bag again. Digging around for a second, he pulled a bottle of Ibuprofen out and dumped two into his hand. "Here."

Phil rolled over to face him, half sitting up, flyaway dark hair kinda sticking out in places. He frowned at the offered meds. "Why."

"Because I'm trying to dope you up." Clint deadpanned. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand under Phil's nose. "Because they'll help dull whatever aches are currently making you feel worse."

He went crosseyed for a moment before wincing and snatching at the pills, dry swallowing them. "Thanks," he muttered, snuggling down under the blanket. "Why."

Clint tossed the bottle back to his back without glancing over. "Cuz I'm a nice guy who just happens to be too nice when people are legit sick. You can blame my mom for that instinct."

"She a nurse or somethin?" Phil coughed miserably.

"No." Clint answered shortly, turning his back to go for his bow case. "She just had a soft spot for stupid drunken screw-ups and didn't like to see people sick or hurting."

As awful as he felt, Phil caught the past tense. "Sorry, man."

"Whatever..." He mumbled back, grabbing up his practice hip quiver and made his way to the door. "Sleep it off. There's cold meds in the bottom drawer of my desk."

"Thanks," Phil replied, starting to wonder if Barton wasn't really as annoying and uppity for a roommate as he thought.

Clint gave a half grumbled response as the door closed behind him. He went down to the range he'd been given access to and spent the next few hours just firing off arrow after arrow, skipping his afternoon class. By the time he returned to the room, it was dark. Stripping out of his clothes, he stood with a towel around his waist, rummaging for clean clothes so he could go shower, ignoring the bottom bunk in the room.

Phil had hit the shivering stage of his fever, and had piled his coats (yes, plural) on top of his bedcovers in attempt to feel warmer. He opened his eyes at the sound of movement in the room, not that he could do anything about it, and couldn't help but watch the strong lines of his roommate's shoulders and back as he moved. Oh. Not fair.

Clint wasn't by any means a big guy. He was barely average height but what he lacked he made up for in practiced, lean muscles. Not like Steve or Thor kind of muscle, but still not at all shabby. Grabbing boxers and a T-shirt, he turned to pick his shower kit up, pausing only briefly when he caught Coulson's eyes open. "Hey...feelin' better?"

"Vaguely human, thanks," Phil rasped. "Do me a favor after your shower? I'll pay if you want-"

"Dude, I'm not doing your homework..." Clint grumbled rolling his eyes and moving to stand upright again.

"I'll do my own," Phil growled, before falling into another coughing fit. "Just.. ask Bruce for some that funky tea stuff, will you?"

Clint paused and glanced over his shoulder. "You were seriously going to pay me just to ask Bruce for some of those weird teas he has?"

"Yeah."

"...ya know, you don't always have to try and bribe people in order to get them to help you. Sometimes just asking gets you further than trying to pay them." Huffing, he opened the door and moved to step into the hall. "I'll be back with the tea in a few minutes."

"Doesn't make any sense," Phil grumbled, huddling under his blanket again and closing his eyes.

Clint returned not more than fifteen minutes later, fresh and clean and holding a steaming mug of water and four bags of the weird teas Bruce comes up with. When Phil didn't stir, he tossed his things down gently and moved to pull the desk chair up next to the bed, gently touching Phil's shoulder. "Hey...Coulson...wake up. Tea has arrived."

"Mmrphfle," Phil responded, opening one red-rimmed eye. "Tea?"

"Yeah, that weird shit Bruce makes in his room." He set the mug down and held up the four plain white little filter bags. "That I'm not entirely convinced he isn't growing pot in there but hey...none of my business..."

"Medicinal. 'e's bipolar," Phil carefully sat up, and made pathetic grabby hands for the tea.

Clint dropped one of the bags into the water and held the mug out. "That explains a lot..."

"Mmhmm," Phil took it in both hands and tried to breathe it in, already sipping at it while it steeped.

"Careful...it's hot. Over nuked the water a bit..."

"It's great. You know what? You're not horrible," Phil said between careful sips.

Clint rolled his eyes and pushed himself up off the chair. He straightened up his things and pulled a can of soda from the shared mini-fridge (a soda that yes, was clearly mark "PC") and popped it open. "That's your fever talking. Once it breaks and you're sane again, you'll go back to hating my guts."

"Only cos you hated mine first," Phil pointed out, still sipping and not caring about the soda. Clint had gone and got him some Bruce-tea after all.

"Man, that is so far from the truth. _First day I moved in._ Brand fuckin' new. Introduced myself and tried to be nice. You blew me off like I was last week's trash."

Phil frowned, puzzled. Then shrugged. Just because he didn't really remember when they met, didn't mean it didn't happen. In fact, the only thing he really remembered from the first day was the argument he'd had with his father on the phone as he finished unpacking.

Clint shook his head and moved to turn the TV on, letting the subject drop because really, it didn't matter. They only had a few weeks left anyways. "Don't worry, next year you'll have a room all to yourself. Won't have to worry about me at all."

Phil hummed his acknowledgement as he finished off the tea and burrowed back under his blankets and coats. "You're not half bad, Barton. If you wanna save money next year," he added before yawning and drifting off back to his feverish sleep.


End file.
